


Coinflip

by shuderssea



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, G2 - Freeform, Love/Hate, M/M, Shirt Swap, also slightly nsfw, but not graphical, if that makes sense?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 20:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16709290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuderssea/pseuds/shuderssea
Summary: Sometimes the loose, and they scream at each other until their throaths hurt.Sometimes they win, and they clash into each other, all Hands and kisses.It's a coinflip, really.





	Coinflip

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh so this was something that came to me at 2am on Monday and I yeeted awake to write it down; i edited it so that it makes at least a Little sense, but it still has edgesm i believe.  
> also, had to put this out before they put Perkz on ADC officially. GOD i hope the whole "caps joining G2 Thing" isn't real, i can't deal with hjarnan being benched uff  
> uhh if you like it, please leave me a comment or kudos uh,,,   
> yeah that's it.  
> except that English isn't my first language, so I apollogize for mistakes i may have made!

Loosing came with the horrible aftermath that was them screaming at each other, blaming every single mistake that was made on one or the other. It didn‘t even matter who lost them the game, if it really was one of their faults, or if maybe the Botlane had been stomped, or if maybe they enemy team had just been plain better.  
Loosing came with argument over argument, with not even being able to be in the same room, they couldn‘t even stand each other then. It came with words being thrown out, insults that were below the waistband, shouting until either their voices were sore or their teammates separated them before they could jump at each others throath.  
Winning was so much different, and then again, not so much different at all.  
Because Winning also came with them clashing, but here it was clashing into each other, headfirst, with way too much of laughs and giggles, almost like Children.  
Winning came with them being full of adrenalin, giddy even, and Luka taking his hand, pulling him into one of the empty rooms of the Studio while they were supposed to go back to their team room. It came with both of them grinning like idiots as soon as the door fell into lock behind them, and crashing into each other, open-mouthed and hungry for more. Kiss after Kiss was shared, inbetween laughs and praise on how well the other had played today, and how good he solokilled the enemy jungler, and how much they wanted each other right now.  
Winning came with coming back to the team room, looking disheveled, a hickey already starting to form on Lukas neck, and the knowing glances of their teammates. It came with Martin poking fun at their jungler, and Hjarnan rolling his eyes, complaining that he didn‘t get to do that with his girlfriend each time they won. It also came with on of them hushing over to the others room at night, and a lot more kisses.  
And then they loose again. And then, they win again.  
It‘s a coinflip, really.

They loose, and they loose, and they don‘t get to got to the Finals of the Split, and Luka is screaming at him- he hates the younger man, because it is his fault, no? Not his- it‘s the Croates Fault, because it always is! The door slams shut behind them, and he notices that their team has left them alone. That‘s. That‘s good, because then he doesn‘t have to worry what he says, doesn‘t have to worry how it will inflect on his friends.  
Luka is still screaming, and he gives back as good as he gets, his voice getting sore because he was already screaming on stage; he insults Lukas playstyle, because that was what lost them the game, that was what lost them their first chance to go to Worlds- they could have already secured their spot, and now they did not. It‘s Lukas fault, as it always is.  
The shorter Man is so angry, his cheeks are bright red, and Marcin knows that he probably doesn‘t look any better, he‘s taking a step closer to Luka, resisting the urge to just smack him square over the head to just make him shut up. He‘d never do that, though. It just seems admirable right now, shutting Luka up.  
„ You‘re so annoying“ The Brunette shouts now, „Always camping Top, and doing nothing to help me! It‘s disgusting, why don‘t you just fuck Wunder already and go back to playing normal?“ He screams, and a laugh escapes Marcin, like a cough almost.  
„ Maybe I should do that, huh? I bet he isn‘t as needy and bad in bed as are you“ He shoots back, and it‘s almost too good, seeing Lukas face fall. It‘s not the first time he has used this insult, but it works everytime, and he knows that it was the deadbeat argument, because the Midlaner closes his mouth, opens it and closes it again. Checkmate.  
„ I hate you!“ Luka screams, and he stumbles out of the room, pushing past Wadid and Hjarnan. When he returns a few minutes later, he‘s calm again, but he sits as faw away from Marcin as possible. He doesn‘t mind, but he can‘t resist scooting closer to Martin, who looks as if he‘s about to fall asleep during the analysis- he smiles at their Toplaner, because he likes Martin and their friends, and then he shoots a glance to their Midlaner, who just turns his head.

They win the gauntlet, they win against Schalke, and Lukas mouth finds his, the Midlaners hand wrap around his neck as soon as they leave the stage and the cameras left. He kisses back, just as giddy, as excited and his hands grab Lukas shoulders; he doesn‘t care about the team, for a second, or Martin laughing, shaking his head as he turns away, already hushing into the room, while Marcin separates himself from Luka for a second, smiling brightly at the other male.  
He doesn‘t even need to say something, just nodds towards the first empty room they come across, dragging Luka in behind him; they fall against the door, whispering nonsense and stupid things, kissing between every quiet sentence, breaking off kisses to laugh. They‘re going to Worlds, after all.   
„ You did so good, camping Toplane“, Luka whispers, his lips dragging over Marcins neck, „That was so good, you were so good.“, he says again, and Marcin can‘t help but laugh a little bit.  
„ Not scared anymore that I‘m gonna go off, to Martin?“ He asks, and the Midlaner shushes him, pressing their lips together again- his hands are already under Marcins jersey, leaving little scratch marks along his ribs.  
„ Shut up, I hate you“ Luka mumbles, biting his lip. It draws a sharp breath out of Marcin, and then the topic falls flat, forgotten under their kisses and touches.  
It‘s not until he‘s inside Luka, ever so close, and the Midlaner all of sudden stops moving, pinning Marcin down with his arms.  
„ What“ Is all the Jungler brings out, but he can‘t form a sentence, only words, and they don‘t even make sense. Like, at all. Luka is looking down at him, his eyes glistening with Mischief and lust.  
„ Admit it“ The Midlaner pants, his hands are playing with the hem of Marcins Jersey, that he kept on, „Who do you want to fuck? Is it Febiven? Or Martin?“  
Marcin wants to give a sarcastic answer, but Luke starts moving again, making him see stars, and all sarcasm is cut short, all irony is wiped out of his brain.  
„ Only“, He starts, still trying to give a better answer than the truth; Luka moans lightly, and it‘s his name, and Marcin is rendered useless, defenseless.  
„ Only you“, he says, arching forwards to catch Lukas lips with his, „You, only you“ He repeats, and the Croate smiles into their kiss.  
„ Good.“ He whispers.

They‘re at worlds, and nothing seems to be able to stop them. They get out of Play-Ins, and they get out of Groups, and it doesn‘t even matter that they lost a game here or there, because it was still enough and they‘re out of Groups. Sure, they‘ll have to face RNG, but at least they‘ll go down with honor, then.  
GrabbZ says, there is no shame in loosing to the favourite, but he still wants to beat them. Makes sense, and they all want to defeat them at least once. They‘ll train hard, and more, and more, and then the impossible happens.  
They take down RNG, G2 takes down RNG and they win. They win.  
Luka and He end up with Luka blowing him inside the toilet stalls, him giving Luka a handjob in return; they get to the hotel, and they sleep with each other once, twice.  
Afterwards, they lie next to each other, and it really is the first time that they just cuddle, talking about the games. It‘s actually quite nice, Marcin thinks, when Luka wraps his arms around him, burying his head in the taller males shoulder, speaking softly.  
He dips down, pressing a kiss against his midlaners forhead, scratching the back of his head affectionately with his hand; Luka sighs, contented, and it‘s one of the best sounds Marcin has ever heard. Quietly, he wraps his arms tighter around the Midlaner.  
The way Luka responds, smiling lazily, it almost feels like they are in a relationship, just cuddling and enjoying each others presence. It‘s like a relationship, but they‘re not dating. At least, not that Marcin knows.  
They‘re not exclusive, either. He hasn‘t seen anyone since Luka first kissed him, after they won against H2K, hunched behind a half-closed door; but he knows that the Midlaner also occasionally texts Febiven, and he‘s kissed Zven when they met during Rift Rivals. TSM hadn‘t played, but Jesper showed up nontherless, and Marcin had only rolled his eyes when Luka had kissed the other man, grinning like an Idiot. So, they‘re not exclusive, and they are also not dating.  
Still, it feels nice, running his hair through the dark hair, muffling words that probably don‘t make any sense at all. The way Luka laughs, he seems to understand anyways.  
Eventually, though, the bliss wears off and Marcin stands up, shooting a smile to Martin when he leaves Lukas room, hushing over to his own; only there he realizes that he picked up the Shirt of the Midlaner, and not his own. It‘s probably two sizes too small, so he just smiles to himself and returns it.   
He hasn‘t expected Luka to be up, wearing his Shirt- good, he looks downright hideous, and they‘re not dating, but damn if it doesn‘t seem right, seeing Luka wearing his name, his shirt.  
For the first time he starts to think that maybe, maybe he might like his midlaner.

They crash and burn, and they do so badly.  
In three devastating games, IG takes down G2 and dismantles them, and it‘s horrible. Really.  
They loose, and he feels sick to his stomach when he walks off-stage and into the team room, crashing onto the nearest chair, heaving air out of his lungs. His friends, his teammates don‘t look any better: Hjarnan and Wunder cling to Wadid, because he‘s so sad, and Marcin forces all strength he has to get up, to huddle around the Support, because he needs it the most.  
GrabbZ ist devastated, too, as they all are, but he manages to force a smile; he tells them that they made it that far, that even though they got absolutely stomped- Stomped, with a capital S- they still made it further than expected, and that they can be proud. It seems to work, at least a bit, because Martin is able to make a small joke, and that clears away the tension for most parts. For Marcin, it does, at least- that is, until Luka enters the room, looking as sad as they did before. GrabbZ tries to give him the same little speech, but Lukas eyes find Marcin, and his expression shifts.  
„ Camille Jungle“ He says, deadbeat, and Hjarnan sighs loudly; Marcin is too tired for rage, but Luka seems so furios, and he‘s tilting, everyone can tell, „We‘re about to loose, and you decide to go for Camille Jungle?“  
„ You inted the whole game- your farming was atrocious“  
Maybe he isn‘t too tired for rage, he thinks, and simultaneously asks himself, how he could think that he might be in love with the pathetic guy in front of him, just last week?  
What he and Luka have isn‘t Love- it‘s far from that. It‘s two guys, who can‘t even stand each other, having way too much adrenaline. And whenever they don‘t have too much adrenaline, they scream at each other until they can‘t anymore.  
It isn‘t Love.  
Their fight is shut down by GrabbZ, who begs them, please, not today. Not right now.  
They comply, but that doesn‘t stop them from clashing as soon as they get back- their team wants to go to sleep, and Marcin wants to nap, too. Luka is insatiable, as he always is, and follows him into his room.  
„ God, what do you want now?“  
„ You played horrible- look at me!“  
„ And you are an idiot, and you lost us the first game with that Aatrox.“ Marcin shoots back, „Also, I am really much too tired to scream at you right now. Just leave me alone.“  
Luka crosses his arms, staring up to Marcin.  
„ Maybe you‘re just Sorry to admit how bad your Camille was.“  
Marcin shuts him out, and it‘s only half an hour later when he goes over to Lukas room, because now he is in the mood to fight- and now he has stomached the loss enough to actually get angry over how bad the Midlaner played the whole series.  
He doesn‘t knock, just pushes open the door- and is dead in his stance, when he actually sees Luka.   
The Midlaner is curled up on his bed; on the floor, sprawled out, is the TSM-shirt Marcin knows the Croate brought as a goodluck charm, with Zvens name printed over the back. Next to it, crumbled up is Lukas G2 shirt- he‘s wearing Marcins Shirt, the Pole can see his own name clearly from where he is standing.  
Luka is wearing the shirt, his shirt, and again Marcin thinks that this is somewhat right.  
If he goes a little bit gentler on Luka the next time they fight, the other male doesn‘t notice it- and if he is a little nicer, gives out more compliments the next time they end up making out, Luka is as polite not to point it out.  
It doesn‘t have anything to do with the fact that Marcin still hasn‘t received his shirt back, and that Luka somewhat proudly puts it on after they sleep with each other; but maybe the Jungler cuts back some of the more hurtful comments.  
Until they loose again.  
And then again, when they win again- sometimes he even cuts back after a loose.  
It‘s a coinflip, really.


End file.
